Season's End
by miscreant rose
Summary: Drabble from the following prompt: "Can I request a drabble, my friend? Perhaps a passionate kiss between Mary and Charles? :D" Set at the end of Rose's London Season, just before Mary heads home. After a night of dinner, and perhaps dancing, there is conversation at Grantham House, and this eventual goodnight. Part of the "Seasons" verse of my Mary/Charles fic
1. Chapter 1

**_The usual suspect is to blame for this: Lala-Kate sent me the following prompt on tumblr: "Can I request a drabble, my friend? Perhaps a passionate kiss between Mary and Charles? :D ~ LalaKate"_**

**_And the next thing I know, my 'Seasons' Charles and Mary invade my brain and take over my feels and leave me a wibbly pool of jello on the floor. They are brutal to me, these two. Set at the end of Rose's London Season, just before Mary heads home. After a night of dinner, and perhaps dancing, there is conversation at Grantham House, and this eventual goodnight._**

**_Don't worry, Lala-Kate and Cls2011 have already put in the request for the next installment and the removal of clothes. If you don't hear from me again, check my hard-drive - i have a feeling writing that will kill me._**

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**Season's End**

**Part 1**

There is only a single lamp still lit as they pass into the foyer at the late — or rather, early— hour. Just the two of them, as she had waved Carson off an hour ago, insisting she could see Mr. Blake out on her own. Only they fell back into conversations that didn't want to end. He coaxes stories from her, comments hinting that their paths had brushed along side each other for much longer than she ever realized. The same circles, the familiar acquaintances, seasons missed by only a few years.

And a war.

Her fingers twist and play with the long string of jet black beads at her front, her steps slowing with what is becoming a familiar reluctance. Too easily she could slip into letting this man in, to wanting to know everything about him, to find some piece of herself she was having a hard time being without.

More and more, she could feel those tendrils of him creeping around her, making her aware of the hollow place when he wasn't there.

He pauses, looking down before suddenly turning, catching her free hand in both of his. Fingers fidget as much as hers, a thumb stroking to and fro across the back of her hand, the fingers of his other hand dancing a light pattern over the delicate bones of her bare wrist. That velvet gaze of his captures hers, stirring again her desire to just give in to it and all the warmth it holds.

"Mary."

Unconsciously, she steps closer, firmly entering that intimate space of shared breaths, the gentlest of murmurs, the exchange of a spicy musk and a crisp citrus scent, of almost sensing the warm pulse of the other.

Her necklace falls still as her hand reaches up to trace the lines of his cheek, the edge of his lips. Cool for too long, they beg to learn new patterns, new textures, to warm against a new breath. She watches the warm hold of his stare, at first nervous flashing to surprise, now darkening with amber tones to what lurks beneath his surface. Longing, hunger, a fierceness of promise.

She feels his intake of breath, the start of a sound, a word to stop her, to still this, and she silences him with her lips, still watching his gaze under her lowered lashes.

The softness of his lips is unexpected, the taste of him an exciting surprise, rich and sweet with just a hint of tart. Need she didn't know she had hidden away flashes to life, and she opens her mouth against his more firmly, her hand now grasping the back of his neck to pull him closer, her other twining fingers into his, a silent plea to hold her there, keep her safe.

He answers her with the heat and pull of his own mouth, free hand reaching around to draw her in against him. The heat of his hand splayed across the small of her back stirs flutters down her spine, and her knees feel shaky as she clings even tighter to him. A noise somewhere between a growl and a moan rumbles from the back of his throat. In a flash, her imagination runs wild with it, the sudden vision or sense of the sound of him, the feel of him above her, barriers of silk and cotton and linen stripped away, nothing to hold to but shared expanses of skin.

Shivering with electric charge, her body flames to life with an urgency long forgotten, the wave of desire breaking across her so strong it nearly knocks her breathless. She has to swallow back a sob as her fingernails dig into him, her mouth desperate, biting and tugging harder at his. He answers her challenge with his own, arms holding her closer, not letting her slip away, tightening his grip as she fights the need to want to crawl inside his skin. Tongues challenge each other, sparing as their words once had, but this time in a dance of united need, fierce one moment, then gentling to warm velvet caresses the next.

She doesn't remember the wall coming up to press against her back. Eyes flutter open for a moment, but see nothing but the fire in his eyes, a look of such pure, unbridled honesty of his devotion, such intensity of emotion she feels the air still in her lungs. Intimate, sacred, she knows it is a look only she has ever seen, a truth, a level of want never before shared with another in his arms; if any other woman had seen that raw exposure of his soul, they would never have let him go. She could live for that look, exist for the chance to see it every waking moment of every day, to feel it against her skin, the caress of it against her soul.

Fingers come up to brush across her cheek, imprinting the pull of him even more firmly onto her. Eyes drift shut once more as he leans in to her, her mouth still thirsty for him. But the brush of his hair against her jaw startles her for the split second before she feels the heat of his tongue at the hollow of her throat. Her breath catches once more as her body spirals even deeper into its pulsing need as his hot, wet, careful caress traces and retraces the base of her throat, lips finally closing over her skin there, marking her anew with his hungry pull. Hands knot in his hair, holding him for balance, holding him for need. His mouth makes a slow exploration up the column of her throat, tongue tasting and heating, teeth brushing against her skin with the promise of a nip but never delivering, then lips sealing each spot with expert caresses that reach to her very center, stoking those forgotten needs even higher, discovering ones she never knew could even exist.

She wants to offer every inch of her flesh to the talents of his mouth.

"Charles."

It is more a sigh than a word. She feels him tense, slowing, just a slight distancing as he breathes his own sigh against her. A soft kiss against her jaw, the flutter of his lips against her cheek, another at her temple as he pulls her into where she can kiss his neck. She trembles as she fights to calm her racing pulse, to steady her panting breath. Ripples of desperate want still break through her, her fingers flexing to grasp him closer. Time needs to stop for just a moment more, just another taste.

"I've forgotten what I wanted to say," he murmurs softly.

She lifts her mouth slowly from his neck. "Really? I thought it was a rather eloquent statement you made."

His chuckle against her surges and echoes every flaming nerve in her body.

"Persuasive?"

She relishes the shiver the sound of his voice elicits in her. Thumbs caress hypnotically along his neck, her hands not ready to be idle, her body not ready to be untouched, bereft of the press of him against her, the heat of him wrapped around her. "Quite persuasive." Her voice is a gentle hum in the space between them.

He nuzzles his nose gently against hers, his fingers still trailing gentle swirls on her cheek. "Perhaps before any more persuasion, I should go."

Her brow furrows as she runs her hand through his unruly waves. Daring thoughts of sneaking him to her room flash across her mind, and the still simmering passion pooling in her core quivers again. She needs rational thought, and yet, all she can do is tilt her head once more, her lips seeking his, leaving her question there.

"Why?"

His mouth brushes across her seeking lips, teasing her, just out of reach.

"What was it you said? It's always nice to leave something for next time?"

She can't help the laugh that slips out of her, mixing with his deep chuckle. With a kiss on her forehead, he is suddenly gone from enfolding her, her knees giving way a bit as the cool chill of the foyer collides against her heated skin, leaving her to lean into the wall behind her to keep from collapsing.

Restless hands back to her necklace, the string of beads twisting tightly around her fingers, and only her gaze left to caress him. The look he gives her tells her he feels that caress, that he relishes it, and he is just as unready as she to say goodnight.

Shrugging on his coat, he finds his hat and gloves to occupy his fidgeting grasp. For now.

"Until next time, Mary."


	2. Chapter 2

**_(Several months of wooing have passed and Mary is in need of making a decision.)_**

**_Originally, this had been a request of a continuation of the passionate kiss, and specifically, the removal of clothes. But there is something about Seasons Mary &amp; Charles that want to remain very true to canon, and try as I might (honestly, 3 different scenarios I tried) it wasn't ringing true. Until a few months ago as I was turning S5 possibilities over in my head, and oh, I just knew what path we were going to be led done (or so I think!). And then Mary started talking, taking me through her thoughts and it all made such perfect sense. Painful and emotional, but still, what she thinks is her path to happiness. _**

**_As usual, massive hugs to the usual suspects of Lala-Kate and Cls2011 for the flailing and love and "Shit!" responses as I worried over this turn of events that worried me for so long. Standard disclaimers apply: Downton Abbey and its characters are not mine, I'm only playing with them to pass the time during hiatus because I am so addicted to their wonderfulness._**

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**Season's End  
****Part 2**

"You've made it at last!"

Her face and smile brightening the dim foyer is not what he expects. He shrugs out of his coat, damp from the night's chill and rain, and she reaches out to take it. He hesitates, brow furrowing. "Is Carson ill? Or are you making economies you haven't told me about?"

She chuckles and tugs the coat from his grasp before offering her hand for his gloves and hat.

"You just missed him. I told him I was staying up and not to worry."

Brows arch at this, watching her deftly hang his belongings.

"I remember what happened last time you sent him off to bed at a late hour."

She tosses him a glance over her shoulder, the sparkle of her amusement shining through the shadows. "Behave now." The slight flush of color to her cheeks makes him smile in return.

"And I assume you did not have time to stop for any kind of meal with tyre changes and all the rest?"

"No, but no need to worry about that."

She steps past him toward the great hall. "Well, I already did. I have some sandwiches for you in the dining room."

He follows her, letting it sink in deeper how much he has missed her, the easy grace of her walk, the tart charm of her that ripples off of her in waves. "No eggs?"

She just laughs in reply, leading him into the dining room where a place is set for him at the end of the table.

"Did you at least make the sandwiches? Expanding your culinary skills?"

"Hardly. My skills remain with the basics of eggs and tea. Oh and, I have managed to add toast to that thanks to the electric toaster. Though, you might not want to mention that to anyone lest they bring up the fact I nearly started a fire with it my first time."

"I am definitely going to be requesting toast now so I can hear the story." He grins at her mock look of exasperation. "Carson has become quite fond of me, I'm sure I can tease it out of him."

She sips at the glass of wine he's poured for her. "If you do, I'm going to have to have a serious talk with him."

The smile she gives him seems slightly off. He's adept enough now to spot the shadows that will flash across her eyes, and from the distracted fingering of the ring still on her left hand, he knows she is fighting something that weighs heavy on this moment.

He dares enough now to reach out a hand, to offer her a chance to step out of the darkness that springs up around her.

"Memories?" he asks softly.

It is a grateful look she gives him in return, nodding slightly. "I didn't even think of it when I said to have some sandwiches made up for you." Her eyes search the dark corners of the room for a moment, an odd smile curving her mouth. "Now that was a long time ago," she murmurs.

He can feel her words pull him with her into that time long past that teases her now. It would be easy to apologize, to try and side-step the reminders that a life moving on throws up through no fault of his own. But he knows that isn't what she needs; nor had she ever asked for those words which can only be hollow, or to be treaded with kid gloves. Ghosts of his own haunt the edges whenever he is with her, but he knows that often it is best to let the past drift out of focus on their own accord, to stay weighted to the here and now by her.

She shares with him when she needs to, takes a moment and shakes it off and smiles and changes the subject at other times. Tonight seems to be something in between. She acknowledges the past's hold to her at the moment, but there is a different look, one of regret almost that lingers too long. She doesn't try and replace it as she returns to the gracious hostess, asking if he requires more, does he wish to have another drink in the library or is it late enough that they can both simply retire.

She cannot help but twist her necklace around her fingers as she walks through the great hall to the stairway. She hesitates to keep from stumbling from the whispers and thoughts that crowd around her right now. Too much presses in on her here, pushing at fragile wounds that never fully heal, reminding her of the pain just waiting to happen again. There are places in her that will never be strong enough to keep pain at bay.

_Maybe it is better never to risk it._

A hand trembles over the railing, never quite touching it for support. Instead she is trying to brace against his gaze she can feel on her back as they mount the stairs. A comfort too easy, a security too sure. She doesn't need to imagine a life with that suddenly gone. She has lived it, she still finds herself with one foot always there. Especially at night, especially those times she is alone. She knows that needs to change, that it can change and she needs not be facing the early hours before dawn hearing only her own breathing fill the hollow of her bedroom.

Yet still.

A pause. Niceties over the usual room, apologies for no available valet at the moment, a chuckle about being able to remove the dirt of the journey on his own.

Part of her shivers, replaying the sensations of his mouth on hers again and again, the intimate imaginings his touch has been able to stir in her. A last stubborn part of her that would walk into fire again, remain burned and feeling more than she should for the rest of her days.

_So this is how I decide._

"Charles, I should let you know that Tony Gillingham is coming up tomorrow."

She watches his brows lift in surprise, but his face remains neutral. "Not something you mentioned earlier."

There, that press right against the part of her that still ached, that still was a raw point no matter how much time had passed. It needed to be sheltered, kept from those that could find their way through her walls. She was doing the right thing to keep it hidden away.

"It was not going to be a possible issue earlier."

"Earlier this evening?"

She shook her head, glancing away. Her eye was drawn immediately to the corner of the hall just over the balustrade, below her. The air seemed to ripple with a memory of a tune, the whisper of a movement nearly catching her ear.

"It wasn't something I was going to bring up over the phone." Her voice remains measured as she lays a new path before her feet.

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. "You've decided to accept his proposal?"

It stings. Breath is lost and she is drowning in the pain that wells up.

_Make the decision, you know you have to. _

"Yes, I have."

His smile is not bittersweet nor forced. It is simply him, and it strokes against that part of her that refuses to heal, reminds her why she needs to do this.

_He can find it. He can touch that part of me._

"I can't say this is a total surprise." How do his eyes remain so warm to her? "As long as you are accepting him for the right reasons and are happy."

There is a slight quirk to his mouth, an uninflected question that lingers over them both. She breathes through the truth, searching for words that will not giver her away.

_He can't hurt me like you would. It is easier for me to live with ghosts of love if they are never touched, if something possibly stronger were never able to try and take root. If there was never something so valuable that could be taken away from me again._

"As happy as can be expected," the exhales words she didn't mean to say, but pushes a smile forward to cover her stumbling off this new trail. "But you deserved to hear in person."

It there when he nods slightly she catches the hints of the wound in his eyes. She thinks his gaze flickers for a moment, dropping, and she is suddenly conscious of her thumb worrying the bands of platinum on her left hand. An icy rush washes over her, nearly cracking her facade, but she refuses to weaken.

"I thank you for sharing so recent a decision with me."

He had noticed. He noticed too much. "You don't seem particularly disappointed," her words once again not what she wanted, edged with a bit more sharpness than she meant.

He takes a step forward, closing that distance. She can smell that hint of bergamot on him, a deeper spice somewhere, the faintest hint of the claret they shared. More, it is the way she begins to tingle just by him being closer.

_You would ruin me. You could shatter me with one skipped heartbeat, and I can't ever go back to that._

"It would be foolish of me to be disappointed in you finding happiness and love. There may be some tinge of disappointment for myself, but this has never been about me. It is about what is truly best for you. If you feel this is the way to a future that brings you joy, then by all means, I am going to give you my support."

She can't help but hear something else underlying his words, some warning, something that hints she is not choosing for the right reasons.

_I'm choosing for the right reasons for me. This is the safer of two paths._

"Well, then as long as there will be now fisticuffs between the two of you." Her face feels odd as she tilts a smile at him, a muscle twitching in her cheek. He remains the gentleman and does not acknowledge what they both know is there.

Instead, he brushes a kiss across her cheek, his hand barely caressing her upper arm as he does.

"Good night, Mary. And my congratulations."

She watches him turn the corner of the passage, wishing she could send her longing off with him. She would close it away, put it behind those walls others cannot breach with the host of other ghosts and painful memories she was determined to ignore.


	3. Chapter 3

**_I seriously have no intention of adding on to this fic. But Mary is telling me otherwise. I have no idea how this is going to go, whether with little drabble like this snippet or proper ficlets. All I know is my soul is bleeding and I feel the need to share my pain._**

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"Can I call Mr. Blake 'Papa'?"

It takes a moment to catch her breath at his unexpected question. "No, darling. I know you are anxious over having a papa, but your papa will be who Mummy decides to marry."

Pale blue eyes gaze at her above his pout. "But I want Mr. Blake to be my papa." The softness of his voice combined with his expression tears at her.

She has to swallow hard to get her next words out. "But Lord Gillingham would make a good papa, too."

The face that stares back at her is too familiar, though softer for all the roundness of childhood. The downturn of his mouth, the identical blue of eyes framed with masses of dark gold lashes. The cowlick on his forehead that sends a tumble of blond waves across his forehead no matter how much they are brushed back into place.

She feels she is being judged by a ghost as well as her son.

He is silent now, but she can tell his thoughts remain stubbornly on Charles. She glances over to where he stands, still chatting with nanny, polite as ever in allowing mother and son privacy, though she catches his frequent gaze of fondness toward the little boy.

Hands smooth over the wide sailor collar, skim down arms to take small hands in hers. "Give Mummy a kiss before you go back to nanny."

His lips brush her cheek as hers brush his, and she swims in the warm scent of him, soap and fresh air, and still the faintest hint of newborn that makes her heart ache. She stands as she watches him walk back over to where nanny is, his head down, clearly still upset. He politely shakes Charles' offered hand before turning his face into nanny's skirts and leans into her with all the disappointment of a three year old with a broken heart.


End file.
